


The Heart of a King

by Lady_Rhey (xSukunas_Toy_Gojos_Bitchx)



Category: King Arthur: The Pendragon Cycle - Stephen R. Lawhead
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Camelot, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Female Merlin (Merlin), Knights - Freeform, Legends, Love, Lust, Magic, ONC2021, Open Novella Contest, Open Novella Contest 2021, Romance, Subterfuge, Sword and the Stone, Swords & Sorcery, knights of the round table - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:07:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29235783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xSukunas_Toy_Gojos_Bitchx/pseuds/Lady_Rhey
Summary: When I was little I had fallen in love with a man of legend. With crystal blue eyes, sandy blond hair, brimming with wit, and muscled like a lion well in his prime he was a knight both unparalleled in kindness and ruthless in his judgment. Governed by the mysticism of ages and ruled by his convictions he held the title of the King of the Summer Kingdom and was loved by his subject as equally as he was feared by his enemies. His name was Arthur Pendragon and he ruled the Kingdom of Camelot.Having suffered another breakup with a man far below the standards embodied in Arthur, I found myself rereading my favorite compilation of his legend snuggled in my bed as the storm both outside and in my heart raged. Without much effort I found myself reading late into the night; falling asleep as my dreams bled together with the pages to carry the story far beyond my conscious.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 3





	1. Author’s Note + Prompts

**Author's Note:**

> When I awoke I at first thought myself still dreaming as the world around me was a very tangible rendition of British architecture in the late 5th century. Stepping out of the linens and layered coarse-haired furs I placing my bare feet on roughly cut slate-colored stone only to have anxiety overtake me as my breath came out in a vaporous puff. 
> 
> Rushing across the room to the wall where an unknown reflective surface hung, I stood before it in both terror and awe wondering how in the world I had gotten here, what it would take to get back to my time and how I was going to pull off being the most powerful Druid the world had ever seen without altering history any further in the process? Especially now that Merlin was female and I could very easily live out my darkest fantasy without so much as a word written.

Main Prompt

13\. A storm is raging outside, but you're cozy at home reading a good story. When the lights go out, you figure it's the result of the storm, but when they come back on, you've been transported into the alternative aftermath of the book you finished reading. Where are you and what happens?

Additional prompts included

1 "You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain." - from The Dark Knight

17: Your main character is in an idyllic relationship. Your task? Make - then break - the ship.

43: You've traveled into the past, but you're not sure how. Somehow, you must make it back to the present without disturbing the timeline. However, that's made a little difficult when a character of a historical legend starts to take an interest in you.

**Please note: Prompt #43 specifically means historical-based legends/myths only, not real-life people/events. The historical legend aspect of this prompt can not be altered.**

————————

This story draws a great deal of inspiration from my favorite series about King Arthur. Written by Stephen R. Lawhead it is entitled The Pendragon Cycle and covers the lives of Merlin's mother, Merlin and Arthur all through the time before, during, and after Camelot. It is easily the most comprehensive "history" of Arthur as well as the best written story about him that I have ever read. I highly recommend it despite it being long winded and filled with heavy description at times.

I was in my early teens when I found this book and cracked open its pages, allowing it to transform my love for him from a childish, romantic infatuation born from The Black Cauldron to a full blown heartsick infatuation. Easily the second man of fandom I had fallen hard for, Arthur began to flesh out my definition of what a gentleman should act like, live like, love like. He, and all men, going forward had to possess an air of mystery, a wit that never dulled, and a tenacity to take life and mold it to their will using only their own strength of character.

His story would also, unbeknownst to me at the time, help mold my sheepish, tomboy personality into something more cruel. Able to grasp the world in its darkness as opposition beat down upon him, he became the bastion of personal struggle and salvation against the isolation all only children felt who never managed to meld into a society of perfectly crafted beauties and venomous social intrigues. As the walking antidote to the toxicity surrounding him, Arthur's charisma and strength of will outlasted every attempt by man or beast to steal from him what he held dear.

Even when Gwen was taken from his side, Arthur held to his convictions and ruled until the world around him swallowed up his vision and bled the country dry choosing instead to side with progress instead of childhood idealism.

A dramatic story of self evolution and maturation past fantasy, Arthur's myth and legend marks the shift in all of us from adolescence into adulthood crafting a personalized tale of man versus environment that shapes us emotionally, spiritually, and mentally as the world around us strives to craft each of us in its likeness instead of letting us openly rule our own kingdom.

————

Whether or not Arthur existed

Taken from book two Merlin

While it is true that the historic record is sketchy, there are scores of tantalizing clues and traces—a fragment of verse here, a place name there—but little that academic historians will accept as definitive proof of his existence.

All the same, that is slowly beginning to change as more is learned about the so-called "Dark Ages" and the time of Arthur. Every now and then there is word that someone in Wales or Scotland has uncovered a gravestone, a provocative ruin, or some other possible clue that promises to solve the puzzle.... Some believe, as I do, that if the search were to be moved from the southwest of England to the Borders of Scotland it might bear more fruit.

On another level, though, I ask myself what person or series of events has created such an enduring story? Is it likely to be based on nothing? I believe that, once all the layers of legend are stripped away, there remains a kernel of truth. In other words, Arthur—or someone so much like him that it may just as well be him—did exist and did rise to the defense of his land when all hope seemed lost, and that act was so momentous it lives on in the Arthurian myths.

Copyright © Stephen Lawhead, 2003

————————


	2. Chapter One: Rain On My Parade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It should be noted that this is being entered in Wattpad’s ONC2021. I am unsure if I will complete it in time for the contest at each stage should it qualify or if it will be finished at all. It’s main purpose is to keep me writing and and to help me through a series of terrible events that have struck me in the last four days. 
> 
> Having my mother have a diabetic seizure and be admitted to the hospital only to find out she has Covid, to have my husband lose his job and my youngest then test positive for Covid, I have lost the will to do a lot of things; my brain just struggling to catch up and function enough to take each day one day at a time. 
> 
> So please bear with me for any of you that find your way here. I am doing the best I can and this is as much a story for my own mental health as it is something I am very passionate about as a subject matter. 
> 
> Lots of love.   
> J/R

"All this guff about courtly love is a perverted concoction of late medieval French romance which has no real part in the legends of Britain."

-Stephen R. Lawhead (Merlin)

—————————-

The muted roar of rain beat down from the blackened sky in relentless sheets as the windshield wipers on my 2014 charcoal Toyota Corolla thumped out the passing of minutes on the digital clock set into my dash in almost perfect time as it went from 9:37 to 9:38. Pummeling my windshield with the same couched intensity held in Ace's words, the fibers of my soul felt lacerated by endless wounds from his murky green eyes and slightly quirked lips as he looked dispassionately at me and called it all off in some sweeping irreversible jest.

"Come on doll, it was fun while it lasted but you and I are different people. We walk in different worlds and have different dreams. There is no way I would ever want to live in the shadow of some fantasy you can't grow up from."

His words had hurt, but in truth were not surprising. Having met him at a poetry reading I had never planned on going to but attended because supporting my best friend in the world was a mutually beneficial sanity we both afforded the other, I already had an inkling of this avocado toast eating, free spirit wielding disaster named Ace that ran completely counter-intuitive to my scripted morality.

Even so for some reason on that day I had said fuck it and allowed myself to be dragged into his overly dramatic theatrics and milk chocolate-haired decadence as he overcompensated egregiously in all aspects of his lackluster existence.

'You reap what you sow' was how the saying went and today was no exception. I knew better. I had been warned with a look and an eye roll from Danielle that I had met with a dismissive wave and a cheeky smirk before setting the stage for this comedic tragedy that had taken place in some hole in the wall bar on the corner of Fifth and Chestnut.

Now seated in my car as the wipers attempted to metronome away my sadness with their calculated permanence, I breathed in deeply and closed my eyes letting the torrent around me swallow me into the tempest it wielded with abandon. Shoving my contained emotional maelstrom of self-loathing, admitted stupidity, and solitude into the deepest parts of Pandora's Box where my soul should belong had I owned one, I allowed myself to wallow in my perfectly parallel parked space for several moments before opening the door and darting inside the main office of my apartment complex. 

"Hello, Ms. Berdot. How are -"

I lifted my eyes to the attendant behind the desk who stopped mid-sentence as our eyes met.

"Not my best night but I'm not dead yet." I tried to form a smile but only the left side of my mouth turned up in response. "Got any packages for me?"

The attendant shook his head keeping his mouth tightly shut.

"That's alright. I wasn't expecting anything anyway." Laughing in disgust at the irony of that statement I raised a hand in farewell. "Have a good night."

Turning right I headed towards the building's back exit that I was fortunate lead right into the entrance of my building via a covered canopy. Quickly walking from one building to the next as diagonal rain whipped at my skin from the wind picking up, I made my way inside and to the elevator quickly before pushing the button for level four.

With it being past the usual departure time on a Friday I knew no one would be coming and going in the hallways leaving me to the silence I craved. With nothing holding me back or blocking my path I made it to my door at the end of the hall on the right in a matter of moments; my keys had been in my hand the minute I had pushed the button inside the elevator the moment the doors closed.

Opening and closing my door with practiced silence being a more private person living near nosey neighbors, I removed and hung my coat before taking off my shoes and heading to my room. There was no need for lights as the sliding glass door off to my left cast enough artificial light for me to get to my room without hurting myself.

Walking through the open doorway to the said room, I walked straight to my bed and fell onto it face first before rolling over and beginning to strip; my clothes getting flung to the other side of the room with no real care for how or where they landed. At this point, nothing mattered but forgetting and the best way to forget was to override the memory with something ten times better.

Snuggling into the monochrome silence broken only by the white noise of the storm that still raged outside, I flicked on my reading light attached to my wooden headboard before picking up the mass market paperback bookmarked with a notecard that was lying face-up on the simple wooden nightstand to my right entitled Merln.

"Oh Arthur, why can't all men be like you?"

My voice speaking to the darkness in both the room and my soul as I opened the pages and scoured it under the soft yellow light until I found the place I had stopped.

It took only a handful of words for me to become so immersed that I lost track of time and a sense of what was going on around me. All I knew was the story that unfolded with each word I read sank me farther and farther into a world I could only touch in my dreams.

"As long as Earth and sky endure, his glory will be in the mouths of men who love honor and peace and goodness. As long as this world lasts, his name will live, and as long as eternity his spirit will endure. 'I, Myrddin Emrys, prophesy this.'" p.446.*

With each word that was said my heart clenched and my eyes raced across the page as Merlin stood before the men that doubted his prophecy that Arthur would come and don the sword of Britain that would shape mankind and the world.

As I continued reading, one man shouted out in opposition challenging the druid with questions about how they would know the man that arose would be king because there had to be a sign.

Searching the grounds Merlin found the keystone that stood at the very center of the courtyard in front of the church he was prophesying in as if presenting itself as it rose from a stage of man's disbelief. Glancing down at the sword he strode purposefully towards the keystone as men screamed and shouted for him to stop because his actions were pure madness, but Merlin possessed deaf ears and held the sword with purpose and finality above his head before plunging it into the stone for all to see.

"Some claim a hand appeared to grasp the naked blade and guide it into the stone; others say a flash of light blinded them for a moment and that when they looked the sword stood in the stone. However it was, all agree the sharp stench of burning stone filled the air and stung their eyes./'You ask for a sign,' I shouted. 'Here it is: whosoever raises the sword from this stone shall be the trueborn king of all Britain. Until that day the land will endure such strife as never known in the Island of the Mighty to this time, and Britain shall have no king.'" p.447-448.*

As the words sang silently within my head a crash of lightning shook the ground outside and the walls vibrated as street lights went out and the world crashed unexpectedly into complete darkness.

Looking out my bedroom window from my place in bed I was able to see the wind ripping at the trees as the rain pelted my window.

"Storm must be worse than I thought. Wonder how long the power will be out for?"

Turning back to my book I realize I had reached its end. Too lazy to search for the next book in the series and not wanting to kill my battery reading it on my phone when I had no idea when I would be able to charge it once it died, I closed the book and placed it back on my nightstand face down so I remembered in the morning to grab the next one without much thought.

Reaching up, I then flick off the light and settled into my pillows as thoughts of Arthur retrieving the sword from the stone-filled my head.

Having read the series once before, rereading it now after two decades had passed I felt a childlike nostalgia as the butterflies flew around my stomach and my heart began to swoon as thoughts of the boy become king flashed across the cinema of my mind.

What would it be like to witness it? What would it be like to be part of Arthur's court or even to thwart his love for Gwen in its infancy turning the whole story on its head and rewriting the devastating ending of Arthur's second greatest passion and his first reciprocating love?

Sure I had fantasized about it and at least once or twice toyed with the idea of indulging in the fandom by actually writing a fanfic about it, but I had always been leery of the die-hards who thrived on accuracy and stuck to canon like it was the Ten Commandments. I didn't want my image of Arthur tarnished by someone else's existential crisis as it played out with intangible characters in hopes of finding value using something they couldn't achieve in real life.

Truth be told nothing was saying my version wouldn't be seen as doing the same thing. Not being one to want to deal with arguments over semantics I had decided to never put the idea into reality, preferring instead to scour the pages of books written far better than anything I could craft with the limited primary sources needed to flesh out his back story and historical context. 

Letting the storm lull me to sleep, I let my mind wander over the idea of changing the story so it played out differently; my mind latching onto the idea of Merlin being female instead of male and leading both the kingdom and its king behind the scenes in unexpected ways.

Should it be made known that Merlin was female or was it better to have it be a secret only revealed by complete accident? Was it plausible to have Arthur fall in love with her then in a slow burn romance that rocked the pages in the same forbidden ways as Gwen's betrayal with Lancelot had? If they did then what would that mean for Lancelot and Gwen? Would they even still fall in love? Would the kingdom become stronger or would it fall apart faster?

At first, these ideas made me restless and had me tossing and turning as I gripped the pillow and sighed heavily against its linen fabric. There was no way this story couldn't be told or at least hadn't been attempted at least once with enough quality to make it a viable read. Trying to push the idea to the side, I made a note to do an intranet search as soon as power returned to try to see what a story of Arthur would be like with a Merlin who was female.

Settling back into my pillows as I lay on my stomach, I cleared my mind the best I could of all distractions before focusing on my breathing. I had a whole weekend in front of me now that I was single and with no plans in sight that meant this story and my imagination had a two-day long date to get to know each other. Smiling against the pillow I left off with that thought as lightning ripped through the sky and rain beat against my window; the cavalcade of raindrops barreling over my consciousness like an army going to war or a hunting party returning from a successful hunt on a chilly winter day.

———————-

Total word count 2086

Lawhead, Stephen R, "Merlin" 446-448, Harper Collins, 2003.


	3. Enlightenment

"What brings a world to light is not the same thing that enlightens it."

-J.R. Layne

—————————

As I had gotten older, my sensory perception while dreaming had become more vivid and tangible to the point I had nightmares where something with multiple arms grabbed me from under the bed at the headboard, and I felt, and saw clearly, the hands gripping at me only to wake in terror as my right hand grasped my left; the pale skin and nails painted with black polish haunting me long into the day as the feelings of long slender fingers gripping my skin remaining viscerally imprinted on my conscious.

This tactile element also allowed me to have a particular awareness that I was dreaming, my mind actually finding ways to alter certain aspects here and there to change things to my liking. It didn't often happen nor did it happen every time, but it prevented me from feeling frightened when I found myself looking out from under a hood as I walked into a candlelit church behind a boy my conscious knew to be Arthur, now well into his pre virulence.

In front of us, an altar stood. To our left and right men, warriors by right clad in their raiment's and light leathers with weapons sheathed, bowed in homage as a single bishop read from an ancient text whose language I knew but couldn't comprehend why.

Our steps were silent, the air in the room one of reverence and humility, at least upon the surface. Carrying the sword that had held fast within the keystone I knew to be outside but could not call to mind its shape or texture, Arthur was the vision of a child both obedient in his task and fearful of the life of the thing that he held.

Oh, Arthur. So true to his nature and yet so innocent of the true nature of others. He was the vision of pious servitude carrying fealty he didn't fully grasp but had engrained within his core. It hit him hard to learn his path, and yet here he was, carrying it out with the blind optimism he could never entirely erase.

Despite our careful gait, it would be the bishop that noticed Arthur's advance. Like a dear who has come upon the hunter, Arthur stalled in his gait momentarily as the bishops' squinted eyes that betrayed his internal damnation of the interruption locked onto his before registering who he was and what he was carrying. Continuing his approach in a slightly less apprehensive step than he would try to tame a steed in a round pen. Arthur never broke eye contact but instead solidified his grip on the pommel and tang as the bishop froze, his reading temporarily forgotten.

Caught in a trap not of his own making, a real sacrifice on the altar, Arthur met head-on the full rage of church and country.

"Their faces! I could almost read their thoughts as their eyes started from their heads: What? The sword! Who is this upstart? Where has he come from? Look at him! A north country savage! Who is he?" p.19

The silence that fell was reminiscent of that which exists between priest and sinner during confession before the world is laid bare and judgment is given. Though charged with a growing rage that simmered along the floor, only the rustle of the stray signs of autumn sang their song of passing as they were drug across the rugged surface of the ground by chilling gusts of wind; one leaf, in particular, butting up against Arthurs' foot creating the spark that inflamed the room.

With just that simple sound, that thoughtless and completely natural action not related to anything going on within the walls of man, the room erupted in curses, anger, and verbal daggers.

Bless him for his fortitude. Grace be to God, he held his ground and did not flinch, for had he moved even a muscle, his momentary sign of weakness would have been the thing to discredit him for years to come. Even as the men around him bore down on him like a pack of starving wolves, he remained, much like the stone, unmoving. If anything, lines of worry and confusion riddled his features, for he could not understand how whatever he had done could have caused such an uproar in so holy a place.

Escalating as men fought to reach him, tongues wagging with liquid fire ready to lash him with Satan's curses, I felt the tone of the room change to one more adamantly violent than was rational. Breaking from my post just inside the door where I could take in the room but give him the space to make his name, I tore against massive shoulders and shoved against brutish muscle, struggling to reach him so I could stand with him and against the horde.

No sooner had I lurched forward than glints of steel reflected the light of man's sun as candles caught iron and dispersed humanity's internal rage. With weapons drawn, I feared death was all that might be left for our future king, but without malice, the bishop raised his hands in an attempt to bring peace but only found his face connecting with the edge of a blade as his nose spouted blood from a knife wound that had been aimed at Arthur.

I cannot reach him. Not in time to save his life. Unsheathing my sword, I quickly scan the crowd that continued to press towards him, voices now chanting in unison, 'Kill him!'

What have I done? What have we done? How did we think this would work? Where is Merlin?

As if naming the devil the Druid appeared, a tempest swept in to circle the man not yet made king by other men's dreams. With its winds more potent than the hate being flung, the crowd was pushed back before the visage of a slender figure cloaked in deepest midnight indigo. Now wrapped in darkness as the candles lay smoking, the only sign light had ever exited in the night created by man, Merlin stood before the throng and regained what little civility could be had.

"Enough!" Merlin declared, a father speaking to disobedient children. "There will be no life-taking this holy night."p. 20

Though feared, Merlin did not carry the weight with all the nobles that littered the land. Thus King Morcant, who would see his son Cerdric on the throne, released the venom of doubt back into the room.

"Trickster!" Morcant sneered. "It will take more than your enchantments to make this whore's whelp a king." p. 21

"Foolish king. I would never presume to do such a thing. I am not a God among men." Opening arms as if including the entire room, Merlin continued. "It will be the very men of this room that do that."

"I will allow no such thing! I swear on my life I will do everything I can to prevent such a thing from happening." Morcant spat back.

Having enough support to carry a low murmur from some of the lords surrounding him, many still held their tongue, not willing to bet on the wrong horse as their lives were worth more than someone else's hot air.

"I take it you need proof. That can be easily shown." Turning and facing Arthur, Merlin addressed the man now actively entranced by the unfolding drama set before him. "Arthur, if you would please."

The boy nodded and then headed back out the way he had entered; the sword still firmly in his hands as the contingents of man's divided sympathies strode after with apprehension.

Stopping in front of the stone, Arthur glanced at Merlin. Nodding slightly at the boy, the Druid took the sword and seamlessly thrust it into the rock as had been done that day so long ago.

"Now, Morcant, if you would be so kind?"

Gathering all his bluster, Morcant strode towards the stone and grasped it with both hands yanking back as if trying to dislodge a root that had reached too far into the soil. Quickly his face turned angry, and his grip tightened as his whole body coiled, his feet planting against the base as if rooting himself against the stone would improve his odds.

"What enchantment is this?" Morcant snarled, rubbing his hands.

"If it is an enchantment," Merlin told him, "it is God's enchantment and none of mine."

"Liar!" screamed Morcant. p. 22

"Lies are man's way of justifying actions they either wish were true or created to cover up actions they wish they had never done. Since neither scenario applies here, I would have to say what is before you is only truth you refuse to see. But if further proof is needed, then every man should make his attempt."

With everyone who had been in the church now crowded around the stone, there was a low, rumbling murmur of ascent. Not seeing a reason to go against their agreement for more proof, Morcant stepped away, and each man took his turn faring the same as the belligerent noble. With only Arthur left, Merlin addressed the crowd again.

"Is each man satisfied with his attempt?"

The rumbling ensued again as heads bobbed up and down.

"Very well."

Merlin then took hold and pulled as gasps and white pupils surrounded him; the crowd walking up to the stone in shock. Though druid magic had allowed it to insert, the sword remained firm in its sheath of rock even with the Druid's best efforts.

Releasing the pommel, Merlin straightened disheveled robes before addressing Arthur.

"If you would, lad, all that is left is your attempt."

With all eyes locked onto the boy, Arthur walked with a sure stride up to the stone. Breathing in once deeply, he placed his right hand on the pommel and, without strain, pulled back, causing the rock to spark and the smell of sulfur to waft around on the wind.

"This proves nothing! I will not be tricked... Let him lift the sword in the bright daylight, I say! Then we will know that all is as it should be."

Though a valid point, as none had really paid much heed to the fact night was upon them, only fools believed Morcant was doing any more than stalling the truth in hopes of finding a way to thwart the sword or the magic that had held it within the stone and not his house's grasp.

Though Merlin was poised to counter, it was the bishop that interjected. "Tomorrow is Mass. Let God witness this miracle in broad daylight so no man can contest its truth, for no magic shall blaspheme His will."

Though some skepticism remained, the crowd seemed satisfied.

"Very well, I see no harm in that. Tomorrow then." Motioning towards Arthur to place the sword back, the young man did so, but Merlin returned with a look of troubled frustration with a slow headshake.

"Tomorrow then." The bishop said. "Come inside the church and pray to the Holy King of all men, that in his great mercy he will show some miracle by which we will know beyond all doubt who shall be High King." p. 22

Walking to each man in a gathering motion, the bishop gathered the crowd back into the church and resumed the proceedings that we had interrupted; the world then going black before a voice on the wind whispered, "Dux Britanniarum."


	4. Awakening

The cold, crisp air rushing through my nose was the first thing that registered as my body tried to rouse from sleep. Stifling a yawn, I pulled the covers up so I could snuggle deeper under them and block out the unwelcome chill. When had it gotten so cold? Had the central AC been damaged in the storm, causing the temperature in the room to drop? It felt like it was well below sixty-eight degrees, which was the lowest I would ever set the thermostat even in summer.

As my mind muddled over the temperature, my skin began to register a slight tickle on my cheek. Peeking my hand out from underneath the sheets, I brush the side of my face thinking it was a stray hair, but instead, my hand brushed against the coarse more bristle-like texture of fur. Now thoroughly confused, I opened my eyes and sat up, making sure to pull the covers up with me as best I could.

As I took in the works around me, my first thought was that I still had to be dreaming and had slipped into another scenario, which also happened rarely. Taking in the room, I marveled at the detail I saw in the stone walls and furnishings. The sparse and ancient décor made it easy to see why the room was so cold since there was nothing but stone and blankets to ward off the chill seeping through cracks in the walls.

Being drawn back to the idea of sheets, my mind prompted me to look down and see a large brown pelt laid out over the top of the linens. Glad it was devoid of ahead, I reached out and ran my fingers over the coarse but soft fur marveling at how tangibly my senses registered it. Judging by the size, it had to have been a bear of some sort that had died well into maturity.

Feeling the need to investigate further, I pulled back the sheets and swung my legs over the bed before gingerly setting them onto the cold stone floor. Sucking in the air between my teeth at the intense cold that tried to envelop them, I now stood naked and freezing in the middle of an unknown room.

Wrapping my arms around my body, my eyes scanned the room for something to cover myself with. It took several moments before they fell upon a dark indigo cloth draped over a chair stationed next to a full-length mirror. Scurrying over, I pulled the fabric towards me before wrapping myself up awkwardly in its velvet folds.

Feeling slightly protected from the wind but not the cold, I lifted my eyes from the rich cloth to scan the room once more to determine where I might uncover a set of clothes I could borrow. I was instead trapped by the sight of a naturally beautiful woman in the mirror with a full, straight, milk chocolate hair, full bust, and a curvy figure whose icy blue eyes could have frozen the sun as she stared at me through a mirror whose polished surface reminded me of liquid Mercury.

"It is as you imagined; this mirror has been crafted through magic-using liquid mercury. Though it has been held in place using a suspension spell originally known only to Morgan la Fey, it is the catalyst for my scrying mirror which connects me through time to all tangible renditions of Arthur's life." An unexplained male voice permeated the chilly silence.

Whirling around more concerned that some pervert had now seen me naked, my eyes do not fall on the truth until they are drawn back to the silvery reflective surface.

"What you saw is who you are seen to be. What you see now is who you are."

Zeroing in on the image in the mirror, I now see a man of solid build with a clean-shaven face and eyes that pierce like a hawk staring back at me; irises white as snow and wavy hair as brown and dull as mud. Clad in the same velvety cloak, I had haphazardly wrapped about my body, it falls off his broad shoulders. It frames his indigo tunic embellished with silver fastenings at his chest, shrouding most of him in shadow though I honestly pay it no mind as my eyes have become trapped by his gaze.

"I am Merlin, also known as Emerys, Myrddin, Merlinus Ambrosius, and Embries, depending on the region that seeks to match myth with the tangible. I am sure you believe this to all be a dream, but I assure you it is not."

Confused enough to want answers but weary enough to not completely buy-in, I tentatively question the reflection further. "If it is not a dream, then what is it, and how do I return home?"

With a straightforward response, the man naming himself Merlin attempted to define the reality I find myself in.

"The original legend states that Arthur died, by what means is not important, and Camelot crumbled, leaving the world without a king, without its beacon of hope, to carry it into the uncertain advancements of society. Upon his death, in an attempt to keep Avalon and the soul of the Summer Isles intact, I returned to Avalon and willingly sealed myself away in the tower at the center of its garden." 

"Unable to leave, I am the last link to Arthur's vision and the world now known only in modern legend. Bound by spells that keep both its purity and its foundation froze in time, I see all history in its past and its future; being forced to work in the shadows to try to rewrite what never came to be without unraveling the rest of history as it happened beyond minor influences of events." 

"I believed, and still believe, in Arthur and what he tried to bring about even as I saw his life unfold in visions. Powerless at the time, bound by mortal conventions of what a soul is capable of changing and harnessing in its lifetime, I could only watch the present as it unfolded with no method to execute change that would alter the course of the visions of his future as they played out. Now, with his death a thing of the past and my soul trapped in the timeless world of the Fae, all I can do is begin his story anew after each failed path in his timeline ends in an attempt to have him reach the kingdom he so desired."

Squinting my eyes, I look at the man named Merlin skeptically. "So are you saying that you have been trapped in Avalon for an unknown amount of time trying to rewrite Arthur's story so he survives and can see the fruition of Camelot in an alternate timeline allowing the legend to become a reality, thus altering the history of the world?"

"More or less, though I do not know for certain if Arthur's survival is a possibility since I cannot see beyond the moment when I crossed Avalon's threshold for the last time. I am also uncertain as to why my involvement has become second hand in this particular timeline."

"Second hand? What do you mean?" Now frustrated and confused, I begin to lose my patience with the man in the mirror.

"Simply put, my dear, I am no longer me."

"Simple, my ass, how can you not be you. If you are Merlin, the great Merlin of Arthurian legend, as you have stated, then how are you not you?"

"If I were me, I would be where you are, looking at myself. Since I am not standing there looking at myself and, instead, are looking at you from where I am in Avalon, then that could only mean one thing."

"And that is?" My last nerve twitching.

"That you are, in fact-"

The door perpendicular to me swung open wildly, and a woman dressed as a maid in her late teens or early twenties burst in.

"Merlin! There you are. Arthur has been looking for you. He has been in quite a state since he woke after pulling out the sword last night. He refuses to eat and has done nothing since waking but practice with one of the weighted wooden blades in the practice yard, half-naked. You must come quickly!"

Blinking several times as I stare at the woman whose worried eyes are locked on mine with such intensity I could easily believe, in another life, she had taken quite a liking to me; I remained in stunned silence, trying to grasp still the shoe that had dropped only moments before.

As moments pass and the woman's eyes take on an even more worried look, I turn back to the mirror but see only myself clad in a deep indigo cape that I have wrapped like a towel around my body. Arthurian Cheshire cat that's what he is, creating more questions than he does answers. My eyes squinting slightly as if I can will his reflection back before me to get the answers I seek.

"Merlin? Are you alright? Have the two of you come down with something?"

Dragging my eyes from the polished mercury surface, I look back towards the worried maid.

"Yes, I am fine. I didn't get enough sleep, is all."

My stomach then grumbled loudly.

"I am also rather famished, it seems."

"An easy fix, Mistress, but you need to dress quickly. I worry for Arthur's health as he seems hell-bent on taking his frustration out on himself."

Fortunately for me, the maid moved towards a wardrobe on the other side of the room and removed clothing with marked efficiency. Before I knew it, she stood before me and was carefully pulling at the velvet robe with a calming smile.

"Let me help you dress. These were washed just yesterday and were scented with lavender as you requested."

"Thank you-" the pause both embarrassing and inviting as I took a guess she was the kind to garrulously speak when given a chance.

"Vianne Mistress."

"Thank you, Vianne, but I can dress."

Reaching for the garments in her hand, I took them to the bed and laid them out before shuffling through them for something that looked like undergarments.

"Keep rifling through like that, and you will catch your death of cold. Are you sure all you are is hungry, Mistress?"

Sighing, I cave, knowing all I'm doing is looking like an idiot. "Yes, just hungry, though I don't think I realized just how hungry. My mind is completely out of sorts. I could use a hand."

With my ascent given, I was quickly garbed and properly adorned with the indigo cape I had wrapped around me before being bearded out the door by Vianne's gentle touch on my back as she half-guided half pushed me down the stairs and to the kitchens.

When we finally got there and my mind was a jumbled maze of corridors and stone walls, she left me standing at the table before scurrying to the cupboards and gathering food onto a thin metal plate.

"Will dried venison, cheese, and dried fruit be enough? That's all that's left of the summer harvest beside a few pickled beans. Cook also made some bread which I should be able to scrounge up if you like."

Knowing full well my pallet would be receiving an overhaul, I sat down at the bench giving the scurrying maid a "Yes, that's fine" before taking in, without trying to look suspicious, more of the establishment I found myself in.

"There's water to drink as well as mulled wine and the local brew. If you aren't feeling yourself, I'd recommend water, which I can have one of the squires fetch for you."

Nodding in agreement, Vianne called out a name before bringing me the plate filled with dried foods. "Eat up but don't choke until I get one of those lazy boys to bring you water." Smiling with such open honesty, she then turned those eyes fitted with the sharpest steel daggers towards the doorway before screaming out a name again, a few curses or at least harsh words in an unknown language thrown in for good measure.

Shortly after, a tall, slender boy with sandy-colored hair and green eyes darted through the kitchen and out the adjacent door before hurrying back with a pail he placed next to me on the table.

"My apologies, Mistress. We were just-"

"Fawning over Arthur is what you were doing. If you practiced half as hard as he did, there would be no threat to our lands, now get off your arses and go about your duties!"

Frowning with head bowed, he mumbled a quiet "yes mum" before darting back off in the opposite direction.

"Could he at least have had the decency to fetch you a mug?" Vianne grumbled before bringing me a mug she set on the table and poured the water into. "There you go—all set now if we could get his highness to follow suit.

Shaking her head, I smiled. "He is lucky to have such avid believers as you. He will need them in the days to come."

Blushing slightly, she curtsied the best she could. "You are too kind, mistress." Excusing herself, I was then left to my thoughts.

Why was I so willing to accept the way things were playing out? What if this was real, and I was indeed trapped in the legend of Arthur? Would I be able to get home, or would I find myself the protagonist of an Outlander-like novel except permanently trapped?

Bringing a strip of the venison to my lips, I took a tentative bite and was surprised at how normal and not gamy it tasted. I really needed to speak again with the real Merlin and try to figure out just where exactly in the timeline I was.

"It was a lot to learn in one night for anyone, but Arthur, being so pure of heart and righteous in belief, felt he was lead astray on a personal level. Though I know first hand why you hid the truth from him, he can't seem to come to terms with why the person he trusted so blindly lead him to what could have been his death without so much as a hint or prayer to protect him."

Though I didn't recognize the voice, I knew immediately it was Pelleas who came to sit in front of me with a mug of beer by the smell of it.

"I don't think anyone, but you can pull him out of this funk now. Even after all this, he trusts you completely."

I took the last bite of meat before starting in on the fruit. "May I ask what part seemed to upset him most? I see no one else around with the knowledge of previous events, so you are the only place I can turn."

It would take another thirty minutes before the undyingly loyal Pelleas recapped the story, and I had a basic understanding of what was going on and what needed to be done.

Standing, I bowed my head to Pelleas.

"Thank you, my friend. Arthur is in good hands with you around."

Smiling, he rose too. "Let me take you to him. There is a lot to do and very little time to do it in."

Much like the maid, Pelleas ushered me forward until we came upon sounds reminiscent of a man training. Coming to a stop, Pelleas whispered, "You always do right by him even if he doesn't see it." He then turned and headed back the way he came leaving me around the corner of a courtyard that held my first big trial and the key to my heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Want to see more by me? Come visit https://creativefandoms.com/


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